


Our Paths Cross Once More

by ebmordecai



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), game of thrones
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 14:58:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11382564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebmordecai/pseuds/ebmordecai
Summary: Arya Stark arrives at Winterfell right as a newly appointed Lord does.  This is a short moment of reunion between the two people who will carry on the Baratheon and Stark ties.





	Our Paths Cross Once More

I push my horse forward, feeling the change in the air around me. The further I head north the thicker the clouds become, until the snow begins to fall. 

Winter is here.

The first sign of my family's sigil is almost my undoing, but I push the emotions behind a wall of stone. I must not allow myself to feel hope, even seeing the direwolf flap in the wind. It doesn’t necessarily mean the rumors are true. 

I was in an inn close to the Trident when I first heard the song that spoke of the White Wolf rising from the ashes and taking the north. I sat there, frozen and in shock, wondering if I was dreaming. There is only one white wolf I know of…only one owner of said white wolf. 

I kick my horse faster, Jon's face in my mind. King. My half brother is King of the North. Our family is restored. 

No…I can’t believe it. I won’t believe it, not until I see it for myself. Jon is at the Wall. Leaving his post would earn him death not royalty. It’s for this reason I can’t believe the rumors. It’s for this reason I roam these lands disguised in a face that’s not my own. 

I am but a peasant girl of the North, someone running to Winterfell for protection from the winter that follows me. Will they open their gates to me? If Jon is truly King of the North the doors will open.

And if they do not? I will wait till nightfall and massacre all inside. Winterfell is my home. There will be a Stark back in Winterfell soon, whether by force or acceptance. 

The horse gallops up the hill, and as the fog roll from the land before me I see a sight that brings tears to my eyes. After all these years, I’ve made it. After the horrors and the deaths I’m standing before a place that’s called me back.

It is the majestic walls of Winterfell I see a memory of Bran climbing. The reverence of the Weirwood trees whispers my parent’s voices to my ears. The strength Winterfell exudes reminds me of Robb. The absolute beauty I see before me is Sansa's memory. The laughter from beyond Winterfell’s gates is small Rickon. The overwhelming odds that Winterfell still stands strong is a testament to Jon. My family is bound to this place as strongly as I am. 

I hit the reigns and I’m flying towards Winterfell’s towering doors. I’ve never prayed, only knowing one god who’s name is Death, but I cry to them all in this moment. I cry that one hears me, that these doors will open and my family will be there. 

“Halt!” someone yells.

I look above me and see several guards, their bows drawn on me. I bite my tongue and fight the urge to cry out when I see the Direwolf upon their chests. Stark soldiers.

Six years I've pretended to be someone I’m not. I’ve pretended to save my life, so I can pretend a little longer. Get inside and check around before revealing Arya Stark lives. 

“Please, good sirs. I have traveled far to reach the protection of Winterfell. The winter has taken my home, my food, and all I hold dear. I’ve come asking the Warden of the North to allow me passage behind his walls.”

The man chuckled, “Child, that Warden is now a King!” he looks behind him and nods. 

I can’t stop the small whimper that leaves my lips when I hear the doors begin to open. Just like that the men allow me through, and just like that I’m home again, but I hesitate. 

The door is slow to open, but as it reveals it’s secrets behind it’s iron body I feel my breath leave me. There is laughter and music, a bustle of movement and activity. People go about their way in a spirit of excitement. 

“The protection you seek is yours, child. You’re just in time. The King is on his way home.” 

I enter as though I’m a ghost entering the gates of the after world. All around me are whispers of the past mixing in with laughter of the present. I take it all in, take in every single angle inside my home. The Stark banners hang from high atop the walls bringing tears to my eyes. I can’t stop them…I don’t want to. After all these years I have the right to cry, so as I stare at my father's banners the tears stream down my face. I’ve never seen anything so wondrous…or so I thought. 

“Open the gates! Open the gates! They’re back! The King is back!”

I climb from my horse, the very act of breathing becoming impossible. I leave the horse, not even taking the time to tie the beast up. Nothing matters, nothing but the door reopening. 

There’s already a crowd forming to welcome them, so I hang back, climbing on top of some crates to see. The moment my eyes land on the two at the front of the group I almost fall. They ride with a confidence I’ve never seen them have before this moment. 

It’s true…all of it. The rumors, the songs were all true. Jon strolls into Winterfell with an air of strength in his body. Sansa, my intolerant silly sister is at his side. Gone is the girl where a woman now sits. The crowd bows to one knee, leaving me standing all alone. I awkwardly fall to one knee, my heart hammering in my throat. My head is bowed, my eyes slammed shut.  
I don’t know why I hesitate to reveal myself. Maybe it’s because they’ve moved on without me. Maybe it’s because I feel I don’t deserve them anymore, not after the things I’ve done. I allow them to pass me by without a single word spoken. I hear their movements, force my hands into fists to keep from reaching out to them. They have taken back our home, while I tried to forget them. The guilt eats at me. 

I can’t seem to stand, even as they pass me and disappear inside. Seconds turn to minutes before I’m able to stand on my feet once more. The tears are in my eyes again, for I realize they have done alright without me. Jon is King of the North, how I’m not sure, but it’s true. Sansa is the one by his side, his trusted council. Winterfell is restored. So, why do I feel as if I don’t belong anymore? No that’s not right…I feel I don’t deserve to belong anymore. 

I scan the area as if seeing Winterfell for the first time. All is as it should be here. I will only bring death to this place. Perhaps I’ll head south. King’s Landing needs a good shakeup and there's a certain queen who is owed a visit. 

I grab the reigns of my horse and lead it towards the exit when I hear Jon call out a name I dared not ever hoped to hear again. 

“Ser Gendry, join us.”

My eyes grow wide as I feel my body stiffen to the point I’m unable to move. I know that name, know it as well as my own, but it’s impossible. Gendry is dead, killed by the red witch. 

“Thank you for the invitation, Your Grace, but I was hoping to spend some time in the forge. We have a lot to do, and I need something to fill the time. My mind—my mind wonders sometimes, you know?”

Jon and Gendry stand close to me, but I am blocked by the horse. I’m an uninvited guest to their conversation, yet the moment I hear Gendry’s voice nothing could make me move. 

“I swear to you, once we bring back a White Walker to prove to the others what’s coming you and I will burn the world to the ground in search for Arya. I want her back as much as you do, but we must do this first.”  
The walls inside me crack like ice hearing Jon's words. I force my eyes to turn towards the two men who have meant so much to me. And there he stands, Gendry.

You can Smith for my brother Robb at Winterfell.

You wouldn’t be my family. You’d be milady.

He’s alive, flesh and blood. Gone is the muddy and torn clothes replaced by regal attire. I’m confused, my forehead wrinkles in a effort to understand why he wears such a getup. He looks around, his eyes falling on me and gliding right by without hesitation. But in those few seconds I saw the blue eyes I came to count on all those nights ago.

“Gendry,” I whisper. 

“W—What if she’s not…what if she’s dead,” Gendry says, low.

I watch as Jon lays a hand on Gendry’s strong shoulder. “If there is one thing I know for certain it’s that my sister is a fighter. She will outlast you and I both, count on it.”

They both chuckle at this, and I feel a small smile tug at my lips. 

I’m right here, I want to scream at them both, but the words are a jumbled mess inside my head. I’m left watching them as they both walk away. Jon goes inside the great hall as Gendry turns for the forge.

I allow my feet to carry me in the direction I’m supposed to go, and I find myself outside of the forge. I can hear the hammer beating the anvil, a song of hurt and pain. When I peak inside I notice Gendry has rid himself of his regal shirt. Only his pants remain, and I watch, as if hypnotized, as his muscles shift under his skin. 

“He’s still strong,” I whisper, from my hideout. All thoughts of leaving vanish from my mind. 

“Its not polite to eavesdrop,” he says, without turning around. 

I gasp and move out of his sight, resting my forehead on the wall of the forge. I cannot bring myself to talk to him. Our last conversation rolls around in my head. That was the moment I broke for good, the moment I lost the ability to care. 

“If you’re still there you are welcome to come in. I’m not much company these days, but I don’t mind someone watching me work.”

I take a few seconds to decide what to do. I can run, for I’m sure he wouldn’t follow me. I can go to Jon and Sansa, or I can ride from this place and never look back. To stay would mean facing demons long dead. To stay would mean facing loss and pain. I’m moving inside the forge before I realize it.

He doesn’t stop, but continues to hammer away at what looks to be a sword. I sit cross-legged on the ground at his side, having full view of him. He’s changed so much, changed into a man. His hair is still long, but well kept. His skin has been kissed by the sun, and he seems to have more muscles than I remember, if that’s even possible. 

“What’s your name?” he asks, finally meeting my eyes. There’s no recognition in his eyes, no double takes, but there wouldn’t be. I wear a face that’s not my own. 

“B—Beth,” I say, low.

“Nice. To. Meet. You. Beth. I’m. Gendry,” he says, after every blow of the hammer. 

I know you well. “Nice to meet you, milord.”

Gendry stops, the hammer in the air, and looks at me. “Gendry is fine. Don’t call me call me milord. I hate it. I want to be plain Gendry to at least one person.”

I laugh before I can stop myself, and he looks at me strangely. “Why do you hate it?” I ask, trying to cover up my mistake.

“Because it’s not me. I’m only a Baratheon by mistake.”

I try to swallow the gasp and choke, coughing to hide my shock. He’s a what? “You—you’re a Baratheon?” I ask, once I recover.

“Seems that way,” he says, going back to hitting his anvil. “I’m the bastard son of Robert Baratheon,” he spits out like venom. 

“Gendry Baratheon, so you’ve been legitimized?” he nods his head yes, not looking up at me. “So, you’re a highborn then? You’re a Lord? I should be calling you milord.”

The hammer freezes in the air as he slowly turns my way. For the longest secondss of my life his eyes meet mine and remain there. He watches me, as if trying to come to some conclusion in his mind. His eyes turn red, as if he fights against tears and I hear him clear his throat before looking away.

“Don’t call me milord,” he says, so softly I barely hear him. 

Memories of a long ago time swim around us in the silence. With one sentence I can give away my identity to this man that’s haunted me in my dreams, or I can walk away to finish my list of kills. If I walk away I know I will never return. My plan is a suicide mission at best, but do I deserve to stay? What would be my place here?

My place would be at Gendry’s side. My place would be by Jon and Sansa. My place would be at Winterfell.

“As Milord commands,” I whisper.

The hammer drops from Gendry’s hand, making a loud impact upon the anvil, but he pays it no attention. His attention is on me, and suddenly I feel as though I’ve made a mistake. I hurry to my feet and turn to leave, but his hand grabs my arm. 

I close my eyes, refusing to look back at him. “What did you say?” he asks, quietly.

No, he wanted to leave me. He would have let me walk away from him without so much as a goodbye. If the red witch wouldn’t have taken him that day he still would have left me. Suddenly, I want to leave this forge, run until I’m far away. Fear takes me over, the feelings of that night he broke my heart choking me. 

“Let me go,” I growl, trying to pull my arm free. “I didn’t say anything.”

Gendry let’s go of my arm and I stumble to the ground. I’m breathing hard, and when I look back at him he’s breathing just as hard as me. 

“I—I’m sorry. I just thought…”

He turns around and picks the hammer back up, going back to his work. I watch his body deflate before my eyes. I watch his shoulders sink until he looks as though he carries the weight of the world. 

“You reminded me of something from another lifetime ago. I should have never grabbed you, and for that I apologize.”

I’m to my feet, angered tears in my eyes. I reach down and pick up a small rock, chunking at his head. My mark is spot on and he turns towards me with curses flying from his mouth. His hand rubs the affected area and I smile through my tears, though it holds no humor.

“That’s your problem, milord,” I spit out. “You should have grabbed me. You should have grabbed me and never let go, but you did. You let go and I crumbled into a million pieces, and now you stand before me as a Baratheon and all I want to do is drive my fist through your face!”

By the time I’m done I’m sobbing, but I swipe angrily at my tears. He’s looking at me in confusion. When Gendry takes a step towards me, I take a step back. I don’t trust myself.

“Do I know you…milady?” he asks, softly.

“I’m no lady,” I say, too rushed.

He’s slowly cutting the distance between us, and I feel trapped like a caged bird. My back hits the wall of the forge and I’m stuck in place. He comes to a stop just inches from me. 

“How have I offended you? Tell me and I will apologize truthfully.”

The years that escaped us surround us in the silence of the forge. It’s only in this moment that I realize he was the glue that kept me together. He was the one thing that forced my feet to keep moving. While death surrounded us at every turn, he was the one constant in my life. He was the strength of the hammer, while I was the anvil. 

“You didn’t believe you were good enough,” I whisper. “After everything that happened between us, you still felt you needed to prove more. I would have been loyal to you. I would have been your family till death.”

Gendry’s eyes grow wide and he takes a step back from me. His mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. “A—Arya? It’s not…possible.”

With a sad chuckle, I grab the face of no one and take it off as slowly as I can, until the face he recognizes is staring at him. “Milord,” I say, bowing.

I hear him gasp, but I can’t meet his eyes, he doesn’t give me a chance. One moment I’m standing and the next Gendry wraps his arms around me crushing me to his chest. 

I fight against him, but I am no match for his strength. I am no match for the sudden emotions I’ve buried deep within myself to overtake me. 

I’m not this weak, I scream at myself, but his strength overtakes me. His scent drowns my mind. Memories of a scared little girl play in my head and I’m trapped in the past, a past I almost forgot.

“I never left you,” he’s whispering, in my ears. “You were always with me.”

I never allowed myself to believe I’d hear those words from him. The strength leaves my body and I stop beating his chest. He’s there to hold me so I don’t hit the ground. I slump against him, my arms snaking around his waist. 

“Ask me again,” he begs. “Say the words, Arya. One more time. Say it again.”

I fight to regain my voice, but I can’t form the words. I struggle to breathe, struggle to say what he’s asking of me. 

“I—I can b—be your…f—family,” I whisper. I realize now that I can never walk away. He has always been my path, my destiny. It is in him alone that the demons grow quiet in my mind. The girl I used to be, the daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, is intertwined with the man holding me, and I cannot ignore how much I miss her, how much I long to know her again.

“Yes,” he breathes. “Yes, because you have been and always will be my lady.”

And it is in that moment I realize I’ve found my way back. Arya Stark is finally home.


End file.
